Commie Lover
by RuskiFetish
Summary: Farrah doesn't really see a problem with the system running the other side of the Iron Curtain, and thinks the US government should live and let live. While this doesn't at all go down well with her peers, where will her open-minded views get her when a barely of age Soviet soldier rescues her from a bit of trouble? FF for the 1984 film
1. Chapter 1

The day the invasion came, fittingly, I had gotten up the courage to, once again, try and read my Marx literature in school. Never mind the supposed freedoms here in the good ol' US of A. You're free as long as you don't disagree with or question them, that is. All you hear is about socialist countries are dominated by propaganda. How is it that people think that it's any different here? All we're ever told is how communism is awful and capitalism is amazing. Honestly, the first thought in my head when I recognized the Red Star emblem on the wings is how this would not be happening if the White House hadn't stuck their noses where they weren't wanted and, by extension, didn't belong. But being a Soviet sympathizer was overridden by my survival instincts, the ones that told me to run like hell when someone is shooting at you. So that's what I did. I grabbed my Marx literature and ran.

We were some of the lucky ones. That's what Andy kept saying anyway. He also wouldn't stop repeating himself until we were safe inside his rural home, taking shelter from the chaos in the fortified basement.

Considering how far out that Andy's place was compared to the rest of the town, it didn't come as a terrible surprise that this area was completely devoid of troops. Now, that didn't mean that we didn't hear the occasional chopper or plane overhead.

"Reds are invadin' the town from every corner of the place," Andy remarked from somewhere inside the pantry. He was in there trying to find his unregistered pistol that he had hidden amongst the rows and rows of cans. He was understandably panicked, considering his parents had yet to arrive home.

"We can see that," Maci replied from her position on the couch, nonchalantly filing her nails. Now what Andy saw in this girl, I've no idea. She was my age, a junior, and more of a brainless sheep than anyone else I've ever met. She can't even, now, seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation at and. She wasn't worth a second of my cousin's time, and I can only assume that he was thinking with his cock when he committed to her.

"Go watch the window like Andy told you," I snapped, walking up the stairs to double check that all the locks were in place. "Aren't you good for anything, you stupid whore?" It was seconds after that comment that I was mashed up against the door, hand crunched between the doorknob and my ribcage.

Slightly confused and admittedly a little afraid, I turned my head just enough so that I could see one bulging, rebel flag-patterned bicep about level with my forehead. Of course, this was the previously ink poisoned arm of yet another one of Andy's extremely undesirable crowd of choice, best friend Billy. Instead of being a vapid, self-absorbed slut like Maci, however, this one was in the form of a big, stupid, bigoted and hyper-patriotic redneck. Oh, how I wanted to make a snarky comment. And I would have, but I didn't like the odds of oversized beefcake redneck vs. a 5'3", 130lb Soviet sympathizer. I scrunched my nose slightly when I smelled the chew on his breath as he uttered, "You wanna say that again, commie lover?"

Oh, how it's nice to see that he's already gearing up to collect his sloppy seconds from my cousin. The day that boy comes to his senses and leaves Maci is the day that I'll start considering the existence of God again. "Fuck off," I mumbled from my extremely uncomfortable position against the wooden door. "Shouldn't you be off sucking Ronald Reagan's cock or something instead of trying to get in good with your buddy's girlfriend?"

"What you say, you little bitch?" Billy growled, grabbing a fistful of my deep burgundy-dyed hair from the back of my head and yanking back hard so that I nearly lost my balance off the top step. Until then, I hadn't even noticed that he had moved down a couple of steps.

I whimpered at that swift, jerking motion that nearly sent me downward, but I refused to back down in the face of danger. It was stupid, but I felt that I had pride to protect. I was small and therefore had to be intelligent to balance it out. Well, clever and snarky seemed to work fine in this case. "I see you've been in rigorous practice," I replied, having given myself a moment to recover from the initial shock and pain. "Couldn't get your cousin in the sack this time, I see. Had to occupy yourself by other means, I suppose?"

I probably would have deserved every last ounce of what I would have gotten for that last remark, but the sharp click sounding at the bottom of the steps immediately caught both of our complete attention before my least favorite beefcake had made any moves to retaliate. We both recognized the sound. Someone, more than likely Andy, had just switched the safety off on their gun. Not so coincidentally, that is exactly who we both saw standing at the bottom of the steps with his pistol raised. My now-favorite cousin was aiming that pistol at his best friend, the one and only oversized dullard holding me captive by my hair. Never was I happier or more relieved to see that same familiar Milwaukee Brewers cap, flannel, and work boots. I'd be lying if I said that it didn't at all make my day.

"Hey asshole, let go of my baby cousin," Andy commanded. It's no doubt that he could never take Billy in a fist fight, but he was the one with the gun. He had the authority in this instance.

After a few moments of frustrated mumbling and pretty loud cursing, I was free. Immediately, I ran to embrace by cousin in relief. To make the moment even better, there was soon a knock at the door that was revealed to be Andy's mother and his younger sister, Chelsea.

Their reunion was a teary one, the bony, middle-aged blonde woman tightly embracing both Andy and myself while all nine-year-old Chelsea could do was sob into her brother's shirt.

"What's wrong?" Andy whispered, kneeling down to get at eye level with his baby sister while the guests took the task of locking up the entrance.

"D-daddy…" she stuttered, her eyes puffy and red with tears. "H-he was in a f-fire in the mill. Mommy s-said he wasn't coming home."

That was enough to get Andy bawling, and even I shed a few tears. Uncle Will had been my favorite uncle. Then a thought crossed my mind. "Chelsea…" I said hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer. She turned toward me. "Do you know anything about my dad?"

The girl nodded, and with that, my eyes grew almost frantic. I needed to know if anything had happened to my father.

"Is he okay?" Again, part of me didn't even want to know, but I was eternally relieved when she shook her head to a firm nod. It was then that Aunt Brooke pulled me aside.

"Farrah…" my aunt began, clearing her throat. "Your father was asked to un-retire last week. He left for California this morning. As far as we know, he's fine. He had asked Will to help you move your stuff up here this afternoon. The circumstances ended up just a bit different…" At that moment, she took a long, staggered breath "…but I'm sure he'll be glad to know that you're safe and alive."


	2. Chapter 2

We avoided town after the initial invasion, as insisted by Aunt Brooke. This made sense, considering she was probably one of my most commie-fearing relatives and she wouldn't even be able to behave normally around people that even looked Russian and sometimes she was afraid of people for simply drinking vodka. Quite ironically, I'm pretty sure that I'm her favorite niece. That being beside the point, her and my Uncle Will had been converting the basement into a fallout shelter and the pantry was stocked with at least a month's worth of food. This was more than lucky, considering the guests that Andy had brought.

"I'm _hungry_," Maci cried, looking grumpy, her eyeliner smeared from sleeping in it. Just in case, we were only letting one person shower each day. We were drawing straws for the luxury, and she had gotten the shortest one. It was day three, which meant that Billy, Chelsea, and I had all had the opportunity. I was day two, immediately following Chelsea.

"We can't afford to waste the food," Andy hissed, the pistol sitting ready on his lap. His seemingly permanent position with a pillow between the wall and his shoulders, looking directly up the stairs from the floor, was starting to take a visible toll on him.

This statement was met with an exaggerated groan from Maci as she lazed on the couch. The diminished diet didn't seem to be taking any kind of physical toll on the girl's slender frame quite yet, though that fact had yet to stifle her incessant whining. "If eating the food is wasting it, then what the hell are we _supposed _to do with it? Are you planning to throw cans and boxes at the commies?"

"Oh, just shut up!" I snapped before Andy had a chance to reply to his excruciatingly ungrateful spoiled brat of a girlfriend. "You're lucky you're even here, with food to eat at all. Not satisfied with eating enough to live right here? Then leave."

Oh, how I'd love to rip her smug little face off. She may have been a bit taller than I was, but I could take her. She wasn't exactly athletic. Of course, her reply didn't help her case. Twirling French-tipped fingers through dark ringlets, she spat, "Why don't you just go join them?" Her thin lips then drew themselves up into a satisfied little smile. "I mean, hiding here has got to be compromising some area of your beliefs. Or are you just some rebellious little…what's the word…bourgeoisie in some kind of phase? Stop trying to be tough, little girl. Go up there and shake the comrades' hands."

If I was happy about anything at that moment, it's that Aunt Brooke and Chelsea were in the other room, where my aunt was finally trying to explain to her daughter exactly what was going on. That gave me the freedom to kick Maci's head hard against the wall with my boot in retaliation.

"Cool it, you two," Andy called from the lookout position, shifting his gaze to face us. "We can't afford to try and diagnose a concussion in this basement, Farrah. Nobody here is a nurse."

Being scolded by my cousin brought to Maci's throat a satisfied grunt and to her lips a satisfied smirk, quite the change from her stunned expression a moment before. It was enough to keep me going, however, that she continued to rub at the back of her head for a good half hour before putting her hand back down.

"At this rate, there's no way in hell that either of you is going to make it out alive without killing the other," Andy remarked as the two of us focused our eyes away from each other. "And no offense babe, but I've got my money on my baby cousin over there."

"Six months!" I reminded him, sticking my tongue out and brandishing a pillow as if I was about to throw it. "You're only older than me by six months!"

"Still counts!" Andy insisted, adjusting his wire frame glasses so that they didn't magnify quite as much of his freshly sprouted dark circles. He hadn't gotten a decent night of sleep since before we had all cooped ourselves up in this cramped basement, insisting on guarding the only entrance and exit.

Despite the situation, this argument was always one of our favorites. I was right. We were only six months apart in age, but he was a senior and I was a junior. He turned eighteen in May, I turned seventeen in November. Facts aside, he knew the term 'baby cousin' bothered me on some level and it was his way of friendly teasing.

"No," I insisted. "No way. Baby cousin is something that I would call Chelsea. It is not suited for conversations between you and I."

"So?" This activity, ignored by a snoozing Billy and scoffed at by an annoyed Maci, seemed to be putting Andy right back into his usual good spirits.

"Chelsea is barely nine," I pointed out. "I'm almost eight years older than she is. _That _would be the appropriate time to add 'baby' to 'cousin'. If my mom would have gotten knocked up a few months earlier, we would even be in the same grade!"

After a few moments of reflection, Andy laughed. It was even the hearty, good-spirited laugh that he would have use before all of this chaos. "I'm still calling you baby cousin."

"Fine," I mumbled, fake pouting and hiding my head away in my olive-colored jacket like usual. If I believed in God, I would have thanked him for my built-in pillow at this instance. Big boobs have so many uses.

After a few moments of this, a loud "hmph" was audible from the other end of the couch. This was followed by Maci standing up, straightening her black leggings, and marching into the bathroom with a sour look on her face. From peeking out of my little 'nest' amongst my own body, I could see her tanned feet and neon toes crossing the plain, navy blue carpet.

"She always like this?" I asked Andy, picking up my head when I heard the door slam shut. "You know, _unpleasant_."

After a few moments of Billy's half-conscious mumblings, Andy flashed me the finger and rolled his eyes. His liking of unpleasant company aside, I was enjoying spending excess amounts of time with my cousin. Unfortunately, I had to cherish the time I was getting then and there greatly. It was finite, with the end in clear view.

On that third night, it rained hard. Andy was, as always, propped up against the wall and he was nodding off. The thunder and raindrops kept me awake, along with the bright flashes of lightning that were visible to me through the frosted windows up near the ceiling. I watched quietly as my cousin drifted into a deep snooze and the gun slipped down between his legs. My mind preoccupied with a delightfully dirty 'sex pistol' pun that I was tempted to call out, I was caught off guard by a large, meaty hand forcing my face into my pillow.

Panicking loudly inside my head, I stayed dead quiet as I smelled the familiar tobacco-ridden breath and listened to the same forced southern accent. My breath was caught in my throat when I felt something cool and sharp press against the exposed back of my neck. "You say a single thing and I'll slice your neck up real good," my captor growled as he took me up into his arms before throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of flour. "And if you scream, I break your commie neck. Ya hear?"

After he carried me all the way up the steps and began fiddling with the locks, I managed to choke out, "W-what are you doing?" I was trying my best not to wake Andy or anyone. I _really _didn't like my odds this time around.

He chuckled darkly as the door swung open and he stepped through, not even bothering to shut the basement door before explaining, "See, this is what y'all call some good, old-fashioned patriotism." I didn't like the sound of this already.

I was almost sure of what was going to happen, but I couldn't bring myself to even think the word. I just trembled, hanging limply as he walked outside and into the puddle-ridden driveway.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **This chapter contains a rape scene and near constant nudity. I do not mean any offense or anything about rape victims by this chapter.

Billy roughly threw me down onto the cold, hard concrete of the driveway, my left cheek scraping the ground on impact. Honestly, I hadn't thought that even Billy was capable of something like this, but looking into his cold grey eyes, I knew that he was going to go through with it. The best I could do was to take it and never speak of it again.

It took him a moment before, weight already effectively holding me down, he went for my shirt. My jacket being downstairs in the basement, my bra was exposed in seconds as he more or less ripped the fabric of my top from my torso. This action revealed a slightly worn nude bra embracing my chest, the size of which he raised his eyebrows at.

"Huh," he said, chuckling as he jerked my torso forward in an attempt to get at the hooks holding the bra in place. "Who knew you were hiding such a nice rack…"

The temptation to knee him in the balls was overwhelming, but being locked into place with his arms around my torso wasn't exactly the ideal position to escape from. Instead, I struggled weakly and whimpered as my bra finally came loose from around my form. Even less gentle than before, he tore the undergarment from my arms and threw it aside with my shirt, eyes immediately going to my very full bare breasts.

"Damn," he remarked, shifting a hand to fondle my right boob. "How big are you, commie?" At that whisper, I felt him stiffen through his jeans. It made my skin crawl.

I made marked attempt to move away at that point, but being half your captor's weight didn't make it easy. He grabbed my long, burgundy hair as I went to stand up, dragging me back down to the ground by it. He stared hungrily at me as he did it, his tongue gliding along his yellowed teeth and the whole scene bathed in yellow lamp light.

It was mere seconds before my baggy black pants were tossed aside with the rest of my outer clothes, this time around revealing a lacy black thong that did nothing to cover that last stubborn pudge at the bottom of my stomach that just never seemed to go away.

Still feeling his throbbing cock against my thigh as he looked my near-naked body over a few times, Billy once again laughed. "So _that's _where the tits came from. Fat chicks generally have big jugs. Gotta hand it to you though. You hide it well." At that, he slapped my stomach so hard that I wanted to cry out in pain. The skin heated up greatly, a hand-shaped red mark already having made its home on my tummy. It looked as if it were definitely going to bruise in the morning, possibly swell as well.

"You've got a fat ass too," he adds, forcibly turning me over and cupping the left cheek in his hand. "Jesus fuck, what have I been missing out on?"

Flipping me back over onto my back with sickening ease, he immediately went and pulled my lacy underwear right off, leaving me totally exposed in the night. While I struggled uncomfortably under Billy's weight, feeling icy rain drops pooling right around my most private and sensitive areas at the same time, I watched as his belt buckle fell onto my bare torso. Even out in the freezing rain, the cold metal on my abnormally hot porcelain skin was a shock to the system. Soon, his brown leather belt had completely abandoned his jeans. His zipper was next to fall, leaving him on top of me in his boxers a few moments later.

Thinking that I had been suffering before he had taken his pants off had been a horrendous mistake on my part. Now, his fondling was incessant. He ran his callused hands up and down my body, grabbing me roughly by the hips and yanking me in closer to him. He squeezed my breasts tightly in his hands, the sensitive tissue surely to bruise after the violent fondling. He then dug his nails into my buttocks, his free hand whipping out his similarly meaty cock. The throbbing member stood erect at attention, that same free hand behind my head, forcing my mouth toward his penis.

"Suck it," he commanded, his hand never leaving the back of my head as he forced himself down my throat. The foul taste permeated my mouth on contact, but Billy would not permit me to spit. Beyond angry and choking on redneck sausage prompted me to bite down on purpose. I was delighted when he screamed in pain, but my amusement almost immediately turned to fear when he stood up, dragging me by my hair over to the wall and taking the belt with him.

"You'll pay for that," he hissed. I must not have bitten too hard, because he was still erect and I didn't see any blood.

Throwing me against the wall with all of his brute strength and managing to scrape up my other cheek as well, he then took the belt like a whip and lashed me hard on the back. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I screamed at the top of my lungs, silently hoping that my cousin had heard it and would come to rescue me.

"How do you like that?" Billy hissed, cracking his belt against my naked porcelain body once again. Followed by my second scream, I felt a slightly warm trickle of water down my face. I couldn't tell whether it was a tear or a raindrop. "That's what you get, bitch!"

Before I could escape his brute force, the redneck grabbed me by the hair once again, forcing my nude form face-up against the brick wall. Before I could register what was happening, I felt a sharp pain between my legs and realized what was going on. He was trying to get inside of me.

Being a shameless virgin, I had never had a man inside me before, but it was the worst pain of my life. I would not have been able to take it if I had narrow hips. Hoping for it to be over as soon as possible, I stayed as still as I possibly could.

The penetration was over in a matter of minutes, and after he exited, I felt a bead of hot liquid run down my leg and shuddered. I had _bled. _He was probably going to comment on that too.

"Virgin, huh?" he remarked, snorting and picking up his belt once again. "I figured as much. Well, either that or a whore who'd open her commie legs for everyone."

I really couldn't help myself at that point. "You say commie like it's a bad thing," I immediately stated, an undertone of lingering pain from my cherry being popped residing in my voice. "Yet you proclaim yourself a redneck like it's something to be proud of."

I knew I should have kept my mouth shut then, so I did what my instincts told me to and I ran. Being able to snatch up my t-shirt and bra at the end of the driveway, I took off naked down the desolate country road with a big, beefy redneck chasing after me. His longer legs gave him a severe advantage, while my voluminous breasts just threatened to knock me out and hurt my chest every single time they bounced.

Not too far down the road, I spotted a very large, dark-colored truck pulled over on the side of the road and could just make out a figure exiting through the driver's side door. Not caring or really even noticing who it was, I ran toward them, bleeding and sobbing. Shaking like a leaf and now barely escaping Billy's grasp, I ran until I was shielded behind the stranger. Oddly, this man that I didn't seem to know seemed ready and willing to protect me, and he proved that when he took a silver pistol from his belt, aimed it at my attacker, and shot him right between the eyes.

Billy fell down dead not three feet away from me, a small ooze of blood trickling from the bullet wound right above the bridge of his nose. My savior, whoever he was, seemed to be an excellent marksman. Hell, I've never seen shooting that good. He had to be military.

When my savior turned around to face me, I got my first real look at his features. He was broad-shouldered and square-headed, with very fair skin and long lashes framing deep brown eyes set below a spacious forehead and a pair of very thick eyebrows. There was very little shaggy, golden brown hair peeking out of his hat. This hat, I then noticed, had a sickle and hammer positioned right at the brim. A Soviet had quite possibly saved my life, and was now trying very hard to avert his attention from my bare chest.

"Please, dress in the truck," he said after a few moments of awkward silence, immediately going to the trunk for something. Though he spoke very good English, his heavy accent was strangely intoxicating. "I will get you dry shirt and pants."

"Thank you," I said quietly, hopping into the vehicle gladly and beginning to put my wet bra back on. And before I could stop myself, I felt the need to add, "I'm Farrah."

"Viktor," the man said, opening the door and handing me a clean, dry uniform much like the one that he was wearing. Like a gentleman, he turned his back as I finished getting dressed.

Clearing my throat once I had put all of my clothes on, I was slightly disappointed when this didn't capture his attention quite as quickly as I wished it had. Instead, I had to stretch out my arm and tap him on the shoulder before he turned around. "Thank you," I mumbled, my eyes drifting back in the direction of Billy's corpse. "Thank you so much."

Viktor simply nodded. "It is instinct," he stated plainly. "He did not respect you. I put him down."

"Well thank you, still," I insisted with a small smile. "I probably seem awful for saying this, but I'm relieved that he's gone."

"Honestly, I am more worried about your wounds," Viktor said, taking a step closer to observe the scrape marks on my face. "Those, as well as the lash marks on your back, are what I'm concerned about more than anything."


	4. Chapter 4

Once I had gotten myself dressed in the attire that had been given to me, my hands immediately went to my soaked and dripping hair, wringing it out from root to tip. I still shivered, petrified of some form of higher up officer walking past and finding me before Viktor could return with the first aid kit that he had promised to bring. Overall, my emotions were a strange mix of excitement, fear, and relief.

I couldn't quite explain it, but I felt as if I could trust Viktor. His deep, warm brown eyes were calming, as was his accent. He had given me clean, dry clothes and had let me sit inside the armored truck that he was in. He even insisted on checking and cleaning the wounds that I had sustained in my attack. Those jagged red lines across my back had been cut there by Billy's belt buckle, and made it very difficult for me to move without sharp, racing pains. With my luck, this was the beginning of a raging infection. But of course, my Russian savior must have thought of that too because he offered to go and get antiseptic and bandages before I had even noticed that I was in pain.

Luckily, he returned with a white plastic box rather quickly. What I assumed was a first aid kid was really very simplistic in appearance. The box was hard plastic, a pure white in color but with lettered in red Cyrillic alphabet. I couldn't read what it said, so it was really all nonsense to me. However, after setting the small package in my lap, he carefully opened it with the swift movement of one abnormally large hand. The inside was pretty standard for a basic first aid kit. It contained alcohol wipes, cotton balls, basic latex bandages, gauze bandages, medical tape, antibiotic ointment, gauze wrappings, latex gloves, and any other components that you would find in such a kit. Once again, his large right hand came into view to take out the alcohol wipes, gauze bandaging, and medical tape.

"Could you turn around?" he then asked, standing outside the truck and leaning inward. His lips were slightly parted, almost in a look of concentration. "And…" His face reddened a bit, looking slightly flustered. "And would you mind lifting up your shirt as well? I do not quite think it possible to give medical care to your own back."

I really couldn't help but laugh at that. My frigid body, still shivering, allowed me a few amused chuckles. "I appreciate it," I inform him with a small smile as I comply with his requests. I tense up as I feel a callused hand on my bare back, even knowing that he was only trying to help. Still, that skin-to-skin contact sent my mind straight back to the dead body about a yard in front of where the truck was parked. I shuddered, and this time it wasn't because of the cold. Somehow, he picked up that something was wrong.

"Did I hurt you?" he questioned. Clearly, he had no problem voicing his concerns. He wasn't quite the representation of a communist that the western world gave its citizens. He had yet to tear open the first alcohol wipe.

Immediately, I shook my head. "No," I assured him, my voice calm and quiet. "You didn't do anything. It's not your fault." And I was telling the truth. He hadn't done a single thing wrong since I had met him not twenty minutes ago. Instead of pressing the issue, he concentrated on carefully cleaning out the jagged wounds along the middle of my back. With tweezers that he had produced from the box as well, I felt him pull out small chunks of rock and gravel from a cut closer to my shoulder blades.

Each time he moved on to a new cut on my back, he wiped that pair of tweezers with antiseptic on a cotton ball in order to keep the wounds as clean as possible. The cleaning agents stung and burn, but the uncomfortable sensation almost felt good in a way. It was like the alcohol was doing more than clean the bacteria from my wound. I felt as if Billy was starting to be cleansed from my body. The wounds were, at least, clean of that monster. The rest of my body would take much more time to recover from the brutal abuse it had taken so quietly.

Though I knew exactly who was cleansing my back, I still could not help but shudder every time his rough skin brushed my bare back. Though I was almost sure that he harbored no hostile intentions, I couldn't help myself. Like Billy, his hands were big and rough and dry. In texture, they felt nearly the same. I was not able to see Viktor's surprisingly clean fingernails putting that slight pressure on my back as he applied the gauze, and as a result the similarities in feel made me cringe. As he smoothed the medical tape in a line perpendicular to my spine, I quietly shrieked. This caught him rather off-guard.

"Are you sure that you are well?" Viktor asked me, understandably concerned by this outburst. Once again, he paused in his work of patching me up because of my reaction.

Taking a deep, staggered breath in an attempt to pull oxygen into my lungs, I began to speak in quite an apologetic voice. I also decided to tell him the truth. "I'm sorry," I mumbled quietly, craning my neck to have another look at the source of that deep, heavily accented voice. "Your hands, they're quite similar to…"

I couldn't quite manage to finish my sentence, but the meaning of it seemed to be understood just fine. His stern, serious face melted into a soft, apologetic expression at these words. It seemed as if he didn't know quite the right way to reply. In the end, he just nodded and quietly continued treating my various back wounds.

Through the long, oddly kind but awkward silence that I endured as Viktor continued to examine my form for any other serious injuries, I had time to really reflect on the gravity of the situation.

Here I was, sitting quietly in the back of a Russian armored military vehicle, my cousin's best friend dead in front of it, with a Russian soldier providing me first aid out of the goodness of his heart. In fact, I almost wished that I could go back to school and mention this next time one of my teachers began spewing propaganda about the "Red Menace" in the east. This menace couldn't be too bad, I would say. One of its enforcers insisted on providing first aid to a total stranger.

It was odd to think about, really, but an invading force from what was considered the most prominent enemy of the United States of America had just been kinder to me than any one of my fellow citizens of the supposedly free and just nation in which I reside. Ironically, a man of the largest notoriously godless nation on the Earth had performed one of the most Christlike acts that I had ever been witness to.


	5. Chapter 5

Viktor's hands were very steady and precise for their size, and his taping up of my back took all of twenty minutes. Once he had completed his task, I felt him pull down the shirt he had given to me so that the spare fabric of the overlarge shirt piled around me slightly. Once he had done this, he did not hesitate to close the back door and make a quick move to the driver's seat, leaving me to collapse on the seat if I did so wish. However, the cool temperature of the leather upholstery discouraged me from doing so. Though I heard him switch the heat on in the vehicle, it did absolutely nothing to alleviate the chill from my skin. I just simply would not stop shivering.

Seeming to notice this before shifting the vehicle into drive, he picked up a large, heavy-looking coat that matched his uniform from the passenger seat and passed it back. The coat, more than likely belonging to Viktor, probably contained more fabric than any item of clothing that I had ever handled. The garment was even heavier than it looked, my shaking arms having difficulty moving it. The rectangular patch positioned at about the right breast area, which I could guess based on American military uniforms was some form of name tag, read "БЕЛИКОВ". After taking a few seconds to feel the thickness of the heavy fabric between my fingers, I slipped my arms into the sleeves. As expected, the jacket was very roomy and my hands came nowhere near the ends of the sleeves. However, the fabric was warm and comfortable, and the jacket smelled pleasantly clean.

Though Viktor now had the engine running, he had yet to put the vehicle in drive. His eyes were locked on the rearview mirror, those warm brown orbs seeming to be observing me. Once I noticed this, I cleared my throat. "I'm okay," I said aloud, adjusting my position so that I was sitting cross-legged. "Really."

Something in his eyes told me that he didn't believe me. Instead, he had a few completely unrelated questions. "Why is it that I haven't seen you in town before?"

This seemed like a fairly innocent question, but they weren't the types of questions one should answer honestly in a situation like that. Whether the concerned Viktor was an act or not, I could not tell at this point. All I knew is that I was inside an armored vehicle with a strange Russian man who had every single capability to do anything he wanted with me. What if he was sent to lure my family out of hiding? I didn't want to take the risk of revealing their location to a guy that I didn't even know. After a few moments of quiet pondering about my answer, I replied back, "I'd rather not say. Why?"

The questioning tone in my voice seemed to have sparked something in Viktor. It was as if something had suddenly clicked in his head, and, because of that, the situation made a little more sense. "We got a report of a small group of people hiding out on the outskirts of town. Group of teenage boys stole weapons from the sporting goods shop and escaped in a flat bed truck. Have you encountered them?"

This statement jogged my memory a bit. I knew that I had seen some of my classmates escaping in a red pickup, but I couldn't quite remember who exactly it had been. Slowly, I shook my head in response to his question. "I was at my cousin's house, with my cousins, my aunt, and my older cousin's best friend and girlfriend." I paused for a good thirty seconds before adding, "Cousin's best friend is the one outside on the road."

Viktor seemed quite shocked, almost aghast, at this new information. "And he would do that to family of his closest comrade?" His expression was far beyond disgust; he was angry. He looked like he wanted to kill Billy all over again.

I nodded. "He's never liked me," I explained. "He thought that anyone who wasn't as gung-ho to go out 'killin' reds' as he was to be a traitor. I fell under that category."

This snippet of information seemed to capture Viktor's interest more than anything else that had been said. "I take it that you do not share the fanatical obsession with slaughtering comrades that is so very prevalent in your country?"

The question was quite benign compared to what it could be, and I decided to answer. "I've actually taken time to attempt an understanding of how something works before allowing myself to hate it." That was my answer. I said no more and no less as a response to that question.

"And?" It was clear that Viktor had expected an assessment of my impression of Marxism. His eyes were trained on me with extreme interest.

"I don't get what the big deal is," I admitted, tucking a strand of still-wet hair behind my right ear as I spoke. "I don't understand what there is to hate with such a passion. It's not bad. It's just different, which is a concept that Americans seem to have a problem with."

After that statement, Viktor seemed a bit lost for words. For well over a minute, he just sat and stared at me, his facial expression full to the brim with surprise. "Are you sure that you are American?" he questioned. There wasn't a single note of joking in his voice. "All other Americans I have met seemed to regard the Motherland with the same contempt as they would the Third Reich."

I laughed slightly at his question. "Yes, I'm sure," I assured him. "My father is even an air force pilot. I just seem to have been born a free thinker."

That, as well, made him smile. We shared a brief laugh after that, both grinning at each other. He was the one who spoke next. "You are called Farrah, you said?" Now being just a bit confused, I nodded and waited for him to continue. "Farrah, how old are you?"

If I were to be honest, I would have to admit that I hadn't given one thought to age before this point, but once the subject had been brought up, I suddenly felt pathetically young. My eyes raking over Viktor's large, solid build, I couldn't help but think that I looked like a child to him as well as next to him. I certainly _felt _like a child next to him. Finally, I answered, "Sixteen." Clearing my throat, I added as an afterthought, "Seventeen in November. And you?"

It was Viktor's turn to clear his throat, and I could only think of two reasons why he would. He was either much older than he looked, or he thought that I was older than I was. "I will be twenty-one this coming February," he replied. "I thought you to be at least eighteen."

That was a new one, because I was almost sure that I did _not _look eighteen. An awkward, girlish sort of giggle escaped my mouth. "I expected you to be at least ten years older than me," I admitted, speaking in a low voice. I stole another glance at his solid build. "You have…" I couldn't think of the words. "I guess you could call it a mature demeanor."

He was much quicker to reply to that than I was to his last statement. "You do not carry yourself like the other high school students I have seen here," he stated. "They are all crass, violent, and rather hateful."

"I can only guess that to be the reason why I'm here," I interjected, a thought coming into my mind. "If the group detects an individual that does not match the widely-accepted model, that individual isn't treated very well."

"And you think what happened to be punishment for nonconformity?" Viktor questioned. That brief stumble over the language that was not native to him made me smile ever-so-slightly, his heavy accent making the effect all the better. "What are you laughing at?"

My face turned red at that point. "Did you mean to ask, 'Do you think that what happened was punishment for nonconformity?'." He returned the grin.

"I would enjoy to hear you attempt my language," he counteracted with a sly smirk, a facial expression that I will admit made my heart flutter just a bit more than it should have. "I never claimed my English to be well as a native speaker's."

I couldn't help but continue to giggle at what he had just said. "You did it again," I said with a smile. I didn't notice, possibly because it had been replaced in the forefront by the conversation at hand, but the chill was finally gone. I was warm.

It was Viktor's turn to get red now. "I will have you know that I speak the best English in my division," he said, the words seeming to have some sort of animated energy to them.

"Sure you do," I teased, my giggles never ceasing between replies. "Are you legitimately the best, or the best by default?"

That night was some of the most fun that I had happened to have in quite awhile at that point, but exactly how bizarre it had been did not quite sink in until morning. That morning, I woke up, still wrapped in Viktor's coat, stretched out in the back seat of that very same armored vehicle with the bright light of the rising sun nearly blinding me. Viktor had fallen asleep in the front seat. At first I was severely confused, but it all came back to me. It was in that reflection that I came to recognize the strangeness of it all.


End file.
